


hope in the darkness

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow there will be a name for their quest, but tonight in the darkness, Killian clings to hope. Picks up at the end of 4x22, no spoilers for s5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hope in the darkness

It’s Henry who picks up the dagger. Henry who left the confines of Gold’s pawn shop after the explosion of light takes Emma from the street. Henry who moves through his silent family, determined and focused, until his fingers close around the dagger’s handle.

Henry turns quickly, eyes flickering across the familiar faces, gripping the dagger the way David taught him to handle a sword. 

Killian stares at Swan’s boy (no longer a boy), feeling an unfamiliar rush of pride. He hadn’t thanked the lad for what Henry had done aboard the Jolly Roger. It seems both Henry and Emma were suited for piracy. 

Emma. Her name is enough to make him sag with exhaustion. Killian feels every day of his advanced age. He thought he’d been to hell and back, but now he realizes nothing is worse than what he just witnessed.

Her words haunt him (he wonders if that was her intention, to drive him mad with a siren’s promise) and he sways on his feet. He wants to dangle Rumpelstiltskin over the side of the Jolly. He wants the Apprentice to tell them everything about this Merlin. He wants to open a time portal and go back to when he was lying beneath Emma, fingers laced together, her breath warm against his cheek. 

Henry steps closer to Killian, dagger still in his right hand. “Come on,” he urges, “we need to go.”

Killian stares blankly at Henry. Go? Killian’s mind turns over the possibilities, trying to recall as much Dark One lore through a fog of grief and pain. The clocktower says it’s just past eight but Kilian knows he could pass out for three days and not feel refreshed. Too much has happened for him to remain focused. 

The assembled group gaze at Henry. The mantle of author has settled like a comfortable cloak across Henry’s shoulders. Snow grips David’s hand with her left hand but doesn’t reach for the dagger. Regina seems paralyzed, nails digging into Robin’s sleeve. 

“We need a plan,” Henry says, his voice steady as he addresses his mother and grandparents softly. “Meet at Granny’s tomorrow morning at six?” 

Killian realizes two things: Henry has fallen into Emma’s familiar pattern of leaping into action first, and that Henry’s right. Tomorrow, when the sun rises over town, they’ll return to familiar stations: research, recognizance, watchful eyes preparing for battle. Not tonight. Too much has happened for them to make any headway. 

Killian steps forward to stand even with Henry, going to the lad’s right (instead of left, because that’s the side he favors with Swan, so she can fall into step with him as they walk, her fingers warm against his own). “Alright.”

David, who hasn’t said a word since Emma vanished, nods in agreement. The prince has aged at least a decade in minutes, his shoulders hunched and eyes red. “Yeah,” David says, whether to Henry or Killian, one arm wrapped tight around his wife’s shoulders. 

Regina opens and closes her mouth without a word. She looks dazed. “Are you coming with us?” she asks Henry. 

He shakes his head. “I’ll go with Killian.”

Killian’s response is reflexive. “The hell you are.” 

Henry fixes him with a stare that’s so familiar (so much like Emma’s) that Killian can barely stop himself from reaching for his flask. The oblivion it promises might be enough to carry him through this night. He wants to climb the mast of the Jolly, sit in the crow’s nest and try not to think of Emma. Alone.

“Yes I am,” Henry replies, reminiscent of when he pulled Killian from the stupor of the other world and dragged the pirate into the light. 

Killian looks at Regina (her mouth is set in a tight line) to Snow (who’s holding her husband upright by sheer will). No one objects.

“Fine,” Killian relents. They move slowly, like the ground has turned to tar, Henry falling into step beside Killian. 

Their walk to the docks is silent. Henry’s hands (one clenched in a fist, the other tight around the dagger) are shaking. Killian’s seen the same reaction from Emma too many times and doesn’t need to ask what it means. But for the present moment, Killian can only focus on the fall of his feet against the pavement.

Once they’ve climbed aboard, Killian gestures at the deck with his hook (a grand sweep of his arm that feels clumsy). “Make yourself at home.” 

Henry goes straight for the wheel, the same spot Emma had stood just hours before (the other world feels like a bizarre nightmare, fading slowly into memory).

Killian goes below deck. The lad’s not foolish enough to take the Jolly onto the open ocean, and they both need space to think. He pulls off his coat, the weight of the leather suffocating, smelling more like her perfume than the ocean. His quarters mock him, hints of Emma calling from each corner. Even his own body betrays him, the tattoo of the Dark One’s dagger a leaden weight on his skin.  

He paces below deck, passing familiar shadows without seeing anything. When he’s regained enough composure to face Emma’s son without breaking down, Killian makes way onto the deck. 

Henry’s lying on deck beside the wheel, one arm beneath his head, feet pointed toward the docks. Killian climbs the opposite set of stairs, sits facing the open ocean, his back pressed against the railing. 

The night air is cold. Henry sits up slowly. “Where do you think she is?”

Killian’s considered the same question at least a dozen times. “I’d expect she’s found a nice perch, somewhere she can defend easily.”

“Somewhere to hide,” Henry retorts.

“Aye.” Killian sips slowly from his flask, enough to dull the rough edges of his emotions. He’s gone over their last moments so many times that he already can’t separate real from recollection. 

The stars burn brightly, mocking Killian with their beauty. Weeks ago (two, maybe three, he can’t be certain, time muddled and confused), he’d laid beside Emma on the deck. With a borrowed comforter from Granny’s between their bare skin and the wooden planks, he’d pointed out constellations. She’d confessed a desire for another tattoo and he’d been more than pleased to suggest possible locations. Her name sticks in his throat.

Henry draws his knees against his chest. “Maybe this is my fault.”

“How?” Indignation flares through Killian. It isn’t Henry’s fault. If anything, blame belongs to Killian. He should have pulled Swan from the swirling darkness, should have taken her place. But instead he watched her vanish, helpless as the day he had held Milah after the light left her eyes. He was right: villains didn’t get happy endings and Captain Hook was most certainly a villain. 

“Because it’s magic and there’s always a price.” And Henry doesn’t sound calm now. He sounds like a young man who’s lost his mother (truly lost; they have no idea where to find her in this cursed town with its enchantments and endless supply of places to hide). 

Killian swallows hard. He knows what it’s like to live without a mother, to grow up under the shadow of her memory. He’d recognized the same expression when he’d met Bae. Lost boys, all of them, worse than those on Pan’s island. Because they had been left alone in the world, blaming themselves for what happened to their families. An orphan can always find another orphan; the eyes gave them away.  

Killian focuses on Henry. He’s not a storyteller, not good at weaving words together to make sense of the world, but he needs to try. Henry has made them all believe (once, twice, ten times before) and now the roles are reversed. 

“She knows that,” Killian replies. “Just like she knew you’d find her.” Killian was grateful he remembered most of their strange adventure. “It’s no different now.”

“She’s the Dark One,” Henry protests, but Killian doesn’t let him continue. 

Killian’s memory may be a bit hazy on the particulars, but Henry doesn’t need a detailed explanation. He needs hope. “It’s not like slipping into a cloak. She has to let the darkness in.”

“How do you know she hasn’t?” Henry’s voice is quiet, nearly swallowed by the wind. 

Killian shrugs. He doesn’t know, but for the first time in a long time, he believes. 

When he tells Henry, he receives a quick nod in response. 

Killian believes in Emma Swan. He’s sworn on her name, has travelled through time and realms in search of her; he’ll do anything to find her again. 

Waves lap softly against the ship’s hull. 

“Okay,” Henry says. "Then we better find Merlin fast.”

“Aye,” Killian answers in agreement, staring at the dark horizon. 

Tomorrow the sun will rise and they’ll begin their quest. Nothing, not the Dark One’s dagger nor any curse nor a mysterious wizard, will keep them from Emma. And when they find her, Henry can write a new story, one that may begin with Killian saying, “I love you too.”  



End file.
